The whine of a machine gun sounded as the searchlight of the pursuing Zeppelin again enveloped the bold little aeroplane. Her great bulk, big as a steamship, was rushed at top speed through the air. They could catch the roar of her four motors being driven at top speed.
De Garros had dropped again, and thanks to his skill, the aeroplane was still unhit, although the projectiles from the quick firer had come close enough for the occupants of the monoplane to hear their whine.
“We beat zem out!” exclaimed the Frenchman.
“Then we are faster than they are.”
“Oh, very much.”
“Well, we can’t be too fast for me,” muttered Jack. “I——”
“Sacre!”
The searchlight had again caught them, and again there had come reports from her underbody. This time the sharp crackle of rifles.
“Are you hurt?” cried Jack, as the Frenchman gave a sharp exclamation recorded above.
“Malediction, yes. Zey nick my hand. Eet is not bad. But worse zey hit zee motor I think.”